


Landvættir: Prologue

by AimsTheViking



Series: Landvættir [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Funeral, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AimsTheViking/pseuds/AimsTheViking
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Series: Landvættir [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842874
Kudos: 6





	1. Look To The North

Queen Frigga, the Golden Lady of the People, All-Mother of the Mountain Throne was dead. A fortnight ago she had been slain in her own gardens during her habitual early morning stoll. She had lain on the ground cold for several hours before being found by her youngest child. Servants of the castle shuddered when they remembered the heart rendering scream that morning. The guards had rushed to investigate and found the younger prince cradling their fallen mother among the crushed flowers. 

For a fortnight the country had mourned. 

The queen had been held in reverence by the people of the North. Greatly beloved for she had been truly their queen. Often she could be found among her subjects in the marketplaces or other gathering places, bringing food or items to those households that had fallen on hard times. Even a few times she had joined the festivities and revels just to be among her people. Queen Frigga had believed, and raised her children in the same, that no ruler should be far from their people. One who was quickly grew out of touch of what their subjects needed and could become distant and unfeeling. Her husband had scoffed at her perceived naivety in the early years of their marriage, but Frigaa was not one to bend to another's will just to please them. 

At first his advisory council had besieged him with petitions to reign in his wife’s behavior, citing how her behaviors could be seen as common and weaken the reputation of the royal family. Their demands were ignored, partly because he resented any outside forces attempting to command him to do anything. But secretly it was in large part because he had not looked for a queen who would bend to his every whim. The Lady Frigga refused to back down and challenged him at every turn of their meetings and courtship. He saw no harm in her gentle acts, if was bemused by then and figured she would grow bored of it in time. Decades later she hadn't and the council had patted themselves on the back on what a good idea it was to have her be so accessible to the people.

Those same people now lined the roads and pathways to mourn. Many had traveled from leagues away to witness the Queen’s body being laid to rest. The wooden platform holding her earthly formed was held aloft by the solid strength of her husband and eldest child. Upon it, she was buried in mounds of the flowers she loved and by trinkets from those who loved her. Ahead of the somber procession was her youngest. Lean and clad in simple black, they lead their family to the rocky tumultuous shores of the sea.

By the time they had reached the shores, the standing crowd now numbered in the thousands. More stood further back unable to get space on the beach proper. At the point where the crashing gray waves met the immovable land stood the royal family. With a hand clasped tightly on the prow of the rocking boat that now held his wife's body, the King stood knee deep in the unforgiving waters which foamed around him. His face was set in grim lines, no emotion showing as he gazed across the angry cresting sea.

Flanking from behind him were the two princes. They stood close enough that the sea spray misted their hair and clothing. To the King's right was Prince Thor, the firstborn and heir to the throne. A large man in his mid thirties, usually swaggering around clad in armor and furs, always full armed, he was now only clad lightly in somber robes and armed with a single sword at his waist. His once long blond hair was shorn in mourning, and unlike his father, he had no qualms showing his grief. Heavy, silent tears trailed down his cheeks. 

To the king's left was his younger child, Prince Loki. Unlike their father and older sibling, Loki was lean, so much they seemed tall until they stood next to the towering visages of their father and brother. They had always clad themselves in bright and simply elegant clothing spurning armor for clothing more befitting quickness of movement. For this occasion they had traded out the jeweled colors they favored for unadorned black. Also unlike their brother, instead of cutting their long dark hair, they wound a lock of their mother’s golden hair into the braid that laid against their cheek.

Loki was also unlike the men in their family as they were more into the arts of magic like their mother. The two had spent hours together, practicing and learning the workings of the wyrd, discussing the secret knowledge that only people like them knew. Mother and child would take long trips together to the outer regions of their county to par;y with secretive and mysterious folk well learned in the arts. 

Loki let silent, silvery tears roll down their face as their father made a quick slashing motion with his hands. Several soldiers stepped forward, and together they pushed the elegant long boat into the gray seas. The cries of mourning rose to a fevered pitch as the peaceful form of their mother, dressed simply but finely, was set free upon the waves. 

Any individual with the slightest sensitivity to the wyrd would have felt the stirring of the spirits that resided in the shores, the rocks that lay on the beach and unders the wave, and the roiling force of the spirit of the sea itself as the waves latched onto the bow. They pulled at the board, gently gliding it further out to sea. With a nod from his king, the archer on the shelf above the gathered crowd had the arrow he had notched lit. Taking a moment to aim true, he let his torch fly, perfectly landing on the kindling on the boat.. 

The flames arose quickly, fingers of fire reaching towards the sky until the boat itself was nothing more than a bonfire dancing upon the waves. The crowd stood shivering as the ocean spray misted their clothing and bodies. The wind rushed around them, it’s spirits incensed by the tense atmosphere. They all stood as witnesses and the fire grew smaller and smaller. Then as it seemed to go forever onto the horizon, the grey waves crested high and took the fire down low into the fathomless depths. 

The crowd was slow to disperse. Many stayed long after, taking comfort in each other or saying a final farewell. As the morning turned to afternoon, they began the slow return back to their homes and daily lives. The afternoon faded to dusk and there were only three figures left on the beach. Each of their gazes looked past the sea, as if they could see the lands that lay many leagues southward. 

They no longer looked with only sadness and grief in their hearts, now there was a smouldering flame of hatred.


	2. Those Left Behind

Returning to the castle, Thor winded through the hallways at a steady brisk march. His sense of pride and awareness of the tendency of the staff to gossip are what kept him from running to his destination. The stormy countenance he wore like a cloak had the few occupants in the halls fleeing before him. Soon the pathway to his personal suite was devoid of any living soul 

When he threw the door open, it cracked against the wall. Frustrated he slammed it shut with even more force. The servants who had been preparing his bath had frozen with his entrance, they quickly shook their fear off and rushed out of the room with hurried half bows. Ignoring them he strode into the room, pulling the clothing from his body haphazardly and throwing them angrily into corners of the room. 

With the quick click of the door shutting, Thor knew he was alone. He bowed his head and placed his hands over his eyes. He felt small and vulnerable, like a child trying in vain to hide from the cruel truths of the world. But unlike when he was younger, now his mother was not there to gently but firmly take the mystery out of his fears. She was gone, and here in his room, in this moment he was afraid of the world that lay outside his door.

His sorrow was interrupted by a rapid series of knocks that were quickly followed by the door flying open. Thor tensed for a moment, then relaxed. Only one individual in the castle ignored the custom to politely wait to be invited in. Thor dropped his hands and turned slightly to face his sibling. Their slight pale form stood only a few feet into the room, arms crossed across their chest as they scowled. Thor almost smiled, it was almost if their shared grief had personally offended them. 

Those not intimate with his sibling often muttered or hissed behind their hands that they younger prince was a cold, unfeeling person. Their mother had in return, while wiping away their tears, said it was not true. The only fault they had was that they felt too much and had learned to protect their gentle heart for fear they would be eternally trapped in the emotional tempest that existed in their fragile frame. 

Though their heart was gentle, their temper was prickly. His sibling was not a person to be coddled. They preferred honestly, no matter how harsh, and scorned any who treated them as some fragile, tragic creature that needed to be comforted. Instead of soft words and crying into the arms they trusted, they turned to plans and actions for comfort. 

But even they had a breaking, in those times they only had a few they could count on to be the rock when the tempest could not be controlled. Their mother had been the first, with Thor a resignedly accepted back up. But now she was one, and they only had each other. 

Thorbjorn waited for his sibling to speak, Sverre fidgeted in the silence before throwing their arms up in agitation. 

“Bathe you idiot! They didn’t haul the water up for you just to stand there like you’ve never seen clean water!”

A small smile escaped from Thor’s face as he moved to strip the rest of his clothing. He stepped up to the gleaming copper tub and gingerly stepped into the hot, steaming water. The large man eased slowly the rest of the way, a small sigh escaping him as he settled in. For a moment he forgot he had a visitor. He simply enjoyed the fragrant steam from the herbs that the staff and strewn across the waters.

The illusion of solitude only lasted until he heard the noise of his sibling flopping themselves onto his bed. Quiet settled between the two siblings, the only noise was the gently lapping of the settling bath waters and the occasional popping from the low burning fire in the hearth. 

“He is going to declare war.”

At that statement Thor frowned. For all his prowess on the battlefield, he could never match his sibling’s insight and deductions when it came to the field of combat of diplomacy and politics. He sunk further into the bath until the water was to chin before answering, “if you see it so, then so it will be.”

From the, Loki huffed and crossed their arms over their chest, “Are you not going to chide me for my through brother? Try and convince me father would not do such a thing! That he would calmly look at all the options before barreling into a decision he can not unmake!” Their voice grew more and more stressed as they glared up at the canopy gracing their brother’s bed. 

Thor sighed, it was a tired, resigned sound. So his sibling came not to cry or make plans, no they wanted a fight. The fact their father had favored him over his younger child had not been an issue until they both had come of age. Loki felt slighted by their father and had become bitter as their skills and talents were looked down upon. In contrast Thor’s mastery of the art of combat and battle was praised. 

This divide between the siblings often led to them quarrelling either verbally or physically often. Though Thor had his sibling in brute strength, Loke had proven themselves to be a quick, conniving fighter. Their mother had stitched his hide several times when Loki had slipped a blade through his defense. These battles would end, whatever slight worked out of their system and they would go back to being close.

Thor respected Loki, even more so now that with maturing his pride and temper had settled. His recent broken engagement had given him time and perspective to realize that the life and golden future he had strived for was not necessarily what he truly wanted or needed. This insight had left him confused and he fell into old bad habits that distracted him for a time. Afterwards, when he was alone with his thoughts,he was left feeling empty and anxious

“I will not disagree with you, or try to convince you to settle my own mind. You are wise in the ways of people’s minds and hearts, where all I can see is their arm.” He dunked his head under the water, holding his breath for a ten count. He straightened back up, water streaming into his eyes as he turned towards his bed wiping his face. 

His sibling had sat up and was watching him with a wary face. Loke searched their brother’s face, seeing his earnest expression, their own softened. “I had hoped dear brother you would disagree with me, “ they looked down at the covers and picked at a loose threat, “I had hoped you would convince me, like a one would a child that no monsters lay under their bed, that he would not throw us into a battle we may not be able to win in his grief driven madness.”

Thor folded his arm on the lip of the tub and laid his head on them, “you think we would lose?”

Loki growled in frustration, pulling the thread hard, “with planning and information gathering we may not. But he won't wait for that!” The thread unraveled then broke, they twisted it around their fingers, “I want vengeance just as much….” their voice rose, then almost whispered, “but I know she would not want us to die for it.”

Silence filled the space between the two siblings. Thor felt at a loss on how to comfort his sibling. He opened his mouth to give whatever words of comfort he could, when suddenly Loki stood up. They brushed non-existence dirt off their clothing, “well that was very inspiring and reassuring, but unless you have some secret strategy or knowledge you haven't shared there is not much we can do. At least not until our fool of a father does something.” Loki lifted their chin slightly, waiting for their brother to come to their father’s defense.

So we are back to fighting, Thor thought. Tiredly he shook his head and closed his eyes, “I have none, and all I know for sure right now is that you are right. With that I fear the coming day almost more than any battle I have faced before.”


	3. I Can’t See You Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long delay. I had training stuff I went through which meant I had to switch from working nights to days for a bit. Mental health went a bit off for a while.
> 
> But back!!

Leaving their brother's suite, Loki made sure no servants were lurking in the hallways. 

Seeing they were alone they took a moment. Leaning against the cold stone walls, they took a shaking breath in

They had gone to their brother looking in part for comfort, but also to goad him into an unsightly row to distract themselves from their all encompassing grief. A small part of them had hoped their brother would be able to convince them they were wrong about what was to come. 

They were rarely wrong.

For once the siblings were in agreement. The future that was coming soon was frightening. This sibling accord terrified Loki to their soul. Their father’s grief and madness was going to bring them into a firefight that would burn their country to ash. No matter how they looked at it, what scenarios they contemplated, they could only see it ending with countless lives lost on a foreign soul. The names that they could envision the criers wailing the most was theirs and Thor’s. All to appease their father’s need for vengeance. 

Loki raised shaking hands to their head, they could feel the dark spiral of anxiety beginning. Their breath coming in faster pants while the muscles in their back began to lock up in fright or fight. They took a deep slow breath in, held it for a beat, then released it just as slowly. 

Several times they did this, repeating the actions over and over again, until the racing thoughts began to slow, and the noise in the mind settled and went still. Their mother had always taught them, when it all became too much, calm the mind, calm the heart and calm the spirit. 

They couldn’t plan when their mind was a disjointed whirlwind. They couldn’t be the person they knew they needed to be to avoid the fate their father was laying before the. 

Calm the mind.

Calm the heart.

Calm the spirit. 

With those thoughts calmed and settled, the grief arose again, sharp and unrelenting. They pushed the heel of their hand into their eyes to hold back the tears. 

They took another deep breath to focus. The thrumming energy under their skin writhe and twist, with barely a thought they felt it move their body almost sideways into the ether. One moment they were in the dimly lit hallway outside their brother’s door, the next, they were in a secretive hidden corner of the late Queen’s gardens. 

This place was safe for them. Thor was lost to his own sadness in the sanctuary of his rooms, while their father would be in the Queen’s room and would lashe at any foolish enough to offer comfort. 

Here, here was their sanctuary, where mother and child could laugh as they worked together. Learning, studying, and embracing all that the wyrd would offer them. Here in this yard, secrets were found and birthed, and only known to the two of them. Now the one.

Loki collapsed to their knees, the spirits of the garden wrapped around them, comforting them, whispering in a way no person could hear. Here they let go and sobbed. Not a stoic prince or learned magician. In this garden they were a child crying into the grass for their mother whose spirit no longer walked these lands.


	4. Wretches and Kings

Though their relationship was more one of antagonists than familial, Loki knew their father’s mind. To them it had been but a thought to predict where their father would go.

While she lived, the Queen’s collection of rooms had always been filled with light and laughter. If she was not among her people or her garden, she could be found there. Her personal staff moved through their duties with smiles on their faces and the hearth was always alight to welcome any who came into the suite. 

Now the rooms lay empty as cold. As per tradition, anything not kept as a personal memento had been burned with the Queen. The fireplace only held cold remains of ashes, in front of them the king sat in a lone chair dragged from his rooms. 

His majesty had gone directly from the shore to the castle. He spoke not a word as he grabbed a chair and dragged it behind him. The legs scraped along the stone floors, warning any staff of his passage. They had scattered, leaving no watcher to his journey.

Upon reaching the gold leafed doors of the Queen’s domain, he gently pushed them open. He paused in the doorway, half hoping the rooms would be alight. That instead of silence the laughter of his wife and children would roll over him with the opening of the doors. When he saw the darkness before him, a bitter laugh escaped from his chest. 

The king placed the chair in front of the empty hearth and sat upon it. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, hands clasped. He bowed his head as if in prayer and the hours went by. Nothing moved in the room except the minutiae movements a living body makes while existing in the material world. 

The form on the chair was still, but inside he raged. The thoughts ate at him, burning and scorching through his psyche. It burned as it moved through his body until he felt his soul itself being burned away in the fires of rage. 

Seething, they had dared, dared to tread upon his lands. Dared to take from it something so precious and pure. A woman loved and adored, who brought light and hope wherever she traveled. Who should have been safe just by the nature of her heart and by the spirits who knew her.

They had slipped into his home like a poison. Shrouding themselves with dark, unnatural magics and ripped out the heart of the country.

No message was left. No man boasted that act. But he knew, knew the cowards of the South had done this.

Those soft fools who had thrown their man at his borders hoping to destabilize the country. When that failed they went for its soul. 

With it gone, the country would mourn. Their act would sew chaos and grief, but they were ignorant. The king smiled viciously, in the end the lands would stay strong. His rule would continue until the day he was placed on his own funeral pyre to be given to the sea in flames. 

They had miscalculated. Her death was not just a strike against a kingdom, it was a dagger directly into the heart of man whose blood has been tied to the spirits that governed the realm for generations that stretched beyond remembering. 

Unlike his wife and youngest child, he had no proficiency in the arts of the wyrd. However, any ruler knew the spirits of the land he held domain over. They could sense the restless energy when things changed too far and balance was demanded. Even as he sat alone in this room, he could feel the spirits in the stone surrounding him scream their outrage and sorrow. Blood spilled for no reason other than to weaken their lands. 

They showed they could take anything they wanted, whenever they wanted. These weak men spat on the spirits, showing them they could break the tenets of the land. Safe in their own minds that they would suffer no consequences. Insulting. Soulless. 

In the silent, dark room, the Grey King of the Mountain Throne slipped further into madness as he planned. He would have his vengeance, his love and land would be avenged. He would see the South burned, its spirits destroyed, its people made into bone and ash. No quarter would be given, no pity shown. 

He vowed in a whisper only heard by the stone and ash, “Their people will be the kindling I set their country ablaze with, until all is blackened and fallow”

Among the dead ashes, but for a moment was a flash then flicker of orange light. It died out, the vow had been heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Prologue! We shall be back!

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend something clever is written here!
> 
> Actually, hello. Here is my first attempt at long form world building....let’s do this!


End file.
